


Speak now or forever hold your peace

by sherlock221Bismymuse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst and Feels, BAMF Greg Lestrade, Deaf Character, Evil Jim Moriarty, F/M, Falling In Love, Forbidden Love, Greg is Sweet, Heavy Angst, Lochinvar, M/M, Magic, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft Feels, Protective Mycroft, Sherlock is a Brat, Sherlock is a Mess, Sign Language, True Love, Witches, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2020-11-15 05:23:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20860946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlock221Bismymuse/pseuds/sherlock221Bismymuse
Summary: Prince Mycroft loves his younger brother Sherlock, who was born deaf. So he invents sign language for him and nurtures his curiosity and intellect. He grows into his role as the Prince Regent and is willing to defend his Kingdom against every enemy till one day he finds out that this freedom comes at a price.If he had to choose between the greater good of the greater number as a future King and the love of one person who means the world to him as a person, what will he choose?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I am a horrible person who scatters WIPs on the lawns of this fandom like autumn leaves ....:P but sorry not sorry !! I find that sometimes the ideas only emerge as the interaction starts so I am going to go RIGHT ahead and post this and hope that some of you are interested and even enjoy it :)
> 
> It's been brewing in my head for a long time and in my laptop for a few months. I just realized I have written 90 fics in the Sherlock fandom. Wow. That's just *crazy* considering I never ever dreamt I would write EVEN ONE haha!! 
> 
> So now my goal is to write a round 100 if possible, so hang in there folks !!!
> 
> The inspiration for this fic was a peom we learnt in school:
> 
> O young Lochinvar is come out of the west,  
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;  
And save his good broadsword he weapons had none,  
He rode all unarm’d, and he rode all alone.  
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,  
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

Sherlock hated them. All of them.

They treated him either like he was fragile or broken or a freak.

They either avoided him or coddled him.

He hated it.

As a result he was constantly on a hair trigger, ready to unleash his fury on anyone and everyone.

Unfortunately for him and luckily for them, the torrent of his rage was expressed only through agitated hand waving and miming words. So all they had to do was just look away and all that avalanche of anger would be water off a duck’s back.

_Idiots. All of them._

The only one who neither provoked this rage nor ignored him when he was troubled was Mycroft.

Mycroft was the tree under whose shade he could rest from the glare of the fiery sun, the cave into which he could retreat from the unbearable world, the salvation that was offered to his tortured self.

His earliest memory was of Mycroft teaching him how to sign. He must have been barely three and Mycroft was holding his hand under running water and signing the word for him.

He still remembered that feeling of sheer joy that bubbled through him when the penny dropped and he realized that the sign was for a _thing_. A real thing that he could now name. That he could ask for. That he could now communicate about beyond just pointing and miming and making gestures.

After this breakthrough moment, he had been insatiable and had insisted on running around the entire Palace ground, pointing to things and making Mycroft teach him the words.

They must have done close to a hundred words before utter exhaustion overtook him and he fell asleep in Mycroft’s arms as he carried him to his bed. When Mycroft picked him up, he had flung his arms around his beloved big brother’s neck and kissed him and Mycroft had kissed him back, laughing.

It was not till many, many years later that the realization had dawned on him.

Mycroft didn’t need sign language. He had invented it for Sherlock.

In an age when deafness was seen as a curse and deaf children were often simply abandoned in the forest or treated worse than animals, Mycroft had been his shield and his protection. Even greater than that—he had been his teacher and his guide, with all the wisdom of a thousand books gathered inside his brain.

Sometimes he thought that Mycroft must have been born with a book in his hands. He giggled at the thought of Mycroft in their mother’s womb, reading a book and perhaps even signing out some instructions to the midwife as he emerged into the world.

_I should use my charcoal stick to make that sketch_, he thought, grinning wickedly.

“What new mischief are you planning?” Gregory asked him, signing at him in his laborious way, already looking worried.

Sherlock merely rolled his eyes and waved at him. _Go away_.

He liked Greg, his half- brother who was older than him. Older than Mycroft even. He had been born before their father had been crowned the King and had then been forced to take a wife with royal blood. Mycroft was thus the heir to the throne but Gregory had never resented that. He was easy going, competent at his work and was trusted by the King to be the Custodian and Commander in Chief of his Army.

Mycroft trusted him and liked him too and that was enough for Sherlock. He had allowed Mycroft to teach Greg some basics of sign language. But he had insisted that Mycroft not teach Greg everything because it was their own secret language. It was something that only the two of them had. Mycroft had tried arguing with him and explained that if more people learnt it then other people who could not hear would also benefit.

“Teach the others if you want, set up a special school. Teach the whole world. I don’t care. I don’t want to talk to anyone else anyway! They are all idiots.” Sherlock had declared with a ferocious scowl and wildly flailing hands as he signed all this almost at the speed of light.

“At least give them a chance…” Mycroft started to say when Sherlock’s signing interrupted him.

“Name one person who understands what you tell them? And you are so patient and ‘kind-face-making’ to them.”

Mycroft laughed. “What is that silly word?” He signed back. “You mean _diplomatic_?”

“Whatever. See? You understand me even when I say the wrong words. I don’t want to talk to anyone else.” And Sherlock had turned away and refused to look at Mycroft so of course there was nothing he could argue further.

Gregory Lestrade had thus been taught all of 100 words that Mycroft had curated as useful to know while dealing with Sherlock. He sighed when he thought of the list.

No. (Greg needed to use it at least 20 times a day)

Don’t. (Another 20 times)

I will tell Mycroft. (Usually once a day)

Could be dangerous. (Five times a day)

Those things will kill you. ( Ten times a day)

Stop it at once. (As an immediate follow up because of course Sherlock ignored the earlier sentence)

Come here. (Never obeyed)

Do you need help? (To be asked from a safe distance because nothing made Sherlock more enraged than being coddled)

Other useful words were of course book, horse, sword, food, water, sleep, forest, river, man, woman, brother, war, hurt, medicine,

Mycroft knew that Greg genuinely liked Sherlock and despite Sherlock’s brusque and almost hostile behaviour he did try to keep an eye for him and tolerated his antics. Greg had also made up some words of his own that sometimes made Sherlock smirk because they were a bit idiotic.

‘Man river’ for piss and ‘war brother’ for his own relationship with Sherlock, ‘Man horse’ for Sherlock’s curly hair, ‘mouth fire’ for the tobacco leaves he allowed Sherlock to smoke in secret sometimes, and ‘Battle Woman’ for Sherlock’s feisty nursery maid Mistress Martha Hudson.

Despite his obvious intellectual limitations compared to Mycroft, Sherlock did like Greg.

Except when he saw Mycroft chatting and laughing with him as they hid behind the Palace walls and smoked. He would watch from his room in the Tower and resent the fact that Mycroft could chat with Greg so easily. Using words and sounds. They could certainly communicate things they could not with Sherlock.

Such days would make him even more moody and irritable and sometimes he would be forced to set fire to the curtains or pour water on the two of them from his vantage point.

The first time he had done that Mycroft had laughed.

The second time he pulled the stunt Mycroft had bollocked him in sign language.

Sherlock kept averting his eyes so he wouldn’t see what was being said. Then Mycroft held his face up by the chin to force him to see. So Sherlock faced him but closed his eyes and stood there, defiant and upset.

Always impatient-- even while sulking-- he had finally opened his eyes half a minute later to see Mycroft shaking with laughter.

“You stubborn ass.” Mycroft signed at him as soon as he saw his eyes open. “Next time you pull something like this I will tan your hide, do you get that? You want my attention just ask for it!”

“Ok.” Sherlock signed. “I want you attention.”

Mycroft sighed. _It had been too much to expect an apology right?!_

“You have my attention brother mine. Always.” Mycroft signed back with a smile.

He ruffled Sherlock’s hair and they walked hand in hand to the library. Of course to the library. Their sanctuary, their private space. Where no one was allowed to disturb them.

Except to serve them food of course.

The amount of food that the teenaged Sherlock could put away astounded Mycroft.

“Did you swallow a wolf in the morning?” He would sign, amazed by the third helping his younger brother had just heaped onto his plate.

“Yes.” Sherlock signed back. “The she-wolf. She produced Romus and Remulus. You and me. So her work here is done.” He grinned, flexing his arm and showing his biceps. “I ate her up and now you and I will be Kings.”

Mycroft boxed his ears. “No one is making you King , you skinny brat, so you better learn how to fight and ride horses and study and then maybe, _maybe,_ I will let you be my Chief Advisor and Strategist once I am King.”

Sherlock signed back “What is a ‘strategist’?”

“Someone who knows the best tricks and ways to keep the Kingdom safe.”

“Borrring!” Sherlock signed back. “I will be your Chief Jester instead.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “You already are. Except that you are not as funny as you think you are.”

That had led to a sulk and a flurry of waving and gesturing in argument.

“You like Greg more than me.”

“No you silly boy. I don’t!” Mycroft replied with a shake of his head.

“You were laughing with him.”

“He is my friend.”

“And brother.” Sherlock said with one eyebrow raised.

“Yes, as are you.”

“But I am not your friend.”

“No.” Mycroft signed. “Not yet. Someday I am sure you will be. But you know what else you are that he is not?”

Sherlock looked away from his hands and into his eyes, hopefully.

“You are my beloved.” Mycroft said, with a soft smile. “The centre of my universe. OK? Don’t ever forget that?”

Sherlock nodded and looked away trying to hide his smile, shy and pleased, sulk forgotten.

“Come now, let us complete that game of chess and see if your lazy brain remembers anything I taught you!” Mycroft signed, rather pleased with that negotiation.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft takes a vow to be there for his brother. For better or for worse. In sickness and in health.

_No excuses_\--was the phrase that Sherlock ‘heard’ most often as a growing child, every single day, as Mycroft made sure he studied and excelled at everything he was taught.

“You need to be a 100 times better than everyone else Sherlock.” Mycroft would sign and mime as Sherlock pretended he was sleepy or bored.

Mycroft had started teaching him lip reading by his 5th birthday but Sherlock always preferred signing. He worried that others may also manage to understand lip-reading while the signs were their secret language. Hiding in plain sight.

.

.

Eighteen years ago, Mycroft had been fascinated when the midwife had emerged from the Royal Bedchamber and announced that he had a baby brother now.

He had peered at that bundle in her arms and scrunched his nose. That looked more like a piglet than a human. That pink colour and the strange shape of his head and the yowling sounds.

The little Prince Mycroft had spent all his waking hours observing and taking notes of his brother’s behaviour. He asked his tutors for books on how babies grew and what went on inside their brains.

Almost all his tutors smiled at the young Prince indulgently and said such information was not needed! God had given the babies and nature would take care of how their brains grew. They would then quote the Old Testament and say that children were like ‘wild asses and wild heifers’. Parents should regard their child as ‘like a young colt, wanton and foolish, till he be broken by education and correction’.

Mycroft pondered on that and looked very worried. He himself had been an exceptionally obedient and well behaved child from as far back as he could remember and had never been punished or even needed to be scolded.

But this baby was so loud! And scowled so fiercely.

_What if he didn’t obey? Would anyone punish him? _

That made him feel troubled and he decided that he would never allow anyone to punish his brother. He would take care of him.

He would look into the cradle and smile as Sherlock slept.

“I will _always_ be there for you.” He would whisper.

.

.

It was on his brother’s first birthday that Mycroft realized something was wrong. Sherlock was sitting on his lap and clapping his hands and babbling away when the maid who was bringing their supper to the nursery dropped some plates with an almighty crash.

He almost jumped out of his skin but his baby brother carried on clapping and smiling unaffected.

Mycroft was baffled. _How could that be?_

So over the next few days he tried a few tests of his own and realized the unavoidable truth.

Sherlock was born deaf.

He kept this information to himself and started making discreet enquiries.

Mistress Hudson made him nervous even though she had always been kind to him. He knew he could not ask Mummy since she was always very busy with her royal duties. So one day he gathered up courage and told Martha Hudson what he suspected. She had also clapped her fingers and whistled and the baby boy had paid absolutely no attention. With a serious face she had smuggled in a witch that evening to look over the boy.

Mycroft had been prepared to be terrified of her but when she looked at him, he felt somehow unburdened. As though somehow she knew things about him that even he did not ….and it was going to be fine.

“He will be fine.” The witch said finally. “And while he may never speak, on the day that he needs to, he will tell you what you need to hear.”

Then she looked deep into Mycroft’s eyes till he felt as though his very soul was bared. “Listen to him on that day.”

With that baffling and mystical pronouncement she had left.

.

.

Mycroft knew that the second born was not as important to the Kingdom except as a spare and that their parents were so busy with the neighbouring kingdoms and managing skirmishes and avoiding war that they would scarcely notice anything wrong with their second born. Why, even Mistress Hudson who was in charge of the nursery had not realized what Mycroft had!

So he kept doing his research and finding out information from every possible source. He heard one of the night guards one day speaking of a child born to his uncle who was deaf. He said deafness was a curse and muttered things about sacrifice and punishments.

Mycroft paled and his toes curled.

_Sherlock was not a curse! He was definitely not a punishment. He was the most beautiful and radiant thing in his life!_

_That joyful toothless smile he gave him as soon as he saw him! The way he almost leaped at him and tried to walk towards him as he was growing older. Mycroft could sometimes scarce remember that the world existed beyond the two of them. _

The so- called cures they mentioned made him shiver in fright. Edmund, the footman had told him that his neighbour had climbed up very, very high then suddenly jumped down. The sharp fall had restore the hearing. “Didn’t do much for his walking though.’ he had snorted and slapped his thigh and Mycroft had winced.

Robert had suggested to stick a twig in the ear and keep it there all day and night until the deafness is cured.

Then Simon came in with information that his old grandmother had said to fry peach kernels in hog lard and put drops in the ear until deafness is cured.

Mycroft had been horrified at all these and had begged Martha to not do anything of the sort to Sherlock. That precious pale chubby baby brother of his who had barely begun to walk and who followed him around everywhere and who cried when he left him and who ate when he fed him.

There was no way that he was going to let him to be poked and prodded and dropped and ….ugh…he shuddered at the thought.

So he did what he always did when he needed answers—he went to the library. He pored over tomes and compendiums and wished that the Guttenberg press would make it easier to get more books. He knew that medical practise in India and China and the Middle East was far more advanced that their own. He had read Avicenna’s books and the copies of Shanghan Lun and the Sushruta Samhita and every possible scrap of paper he could get hold of on the topic.

Eventually he found his answer in the most unexpected of places. In his own heart.

He spent the next few weeks conducting a few more tests of his own invention and came to the unavoidable conclusion.

Sherlock truly was deaf. 

He would never hear Mycroft’s voice calling out to him. He would never enjoy music. He would never ……….No Mycroft decided once again. He would make sure he was given an opportunity to learn and do everything. He was a Prince. He was his brother and he would make sure that he would be given the best chance at everything he could.

If only everyone else would leave him alone and not try these horrible sounding ‘cures.’

Unfortunately, despite his fervent hopes, eventually his parents also focussed on the fact that their second son was deaf when he turned almost two and had not said a single word.

Of course they summoned healers from everywhere who suggested so many different magical, herbal and outright dangerous remedies. Fortunately Mistress Hudson was very cunning and managed to say yes to everything and yet not carry out any of them on the baby since she trusted her little Prince Mycroft more than any of these others. She trusted him because he showed her the books and what he had read. And she trusted the witch who had said he would be fine. After all the baby was not in pain. He may not be able to hear but there was nothing wrong with his brain. He recognized Mycroft and he recognized her and he had a special smile reserved for them both.

He was not able to talk but he had learnt how to walk very quickly and watching him make his way towards Mycroft on his chubby wobbly legs as that boy waited for him on his knees, the devotion and love almost radiating out from him, Martha Hudson would cross herself and pray to the Old Gods to protect them both because such love was often known to attract evil spirits.

.

.

However, the day that the famous physician healer Mondino de Luzzi from Italy had been invited to the Kingdom and after examining the infant had proposed to bleed him to help cure his deafness was the day that Mycroft knew what he had to do.

He stood in front of Sherlock shielding him. And with every fibre of his trembling body he knew. He would never allow anyone to harm a single hair on his brother’s head. Not now. Not ever.

“No!” He said loudly. “There is no evidence to say that it helps and cutting him can cause an infection which could kill him. Please Father, Mother. Let me find a way to help him.”

His parents had been amused and fortunately for Mycroft, so had the esteemed visitor. Eventually the King agreed to leave things be since the Queen was already pregnant again and they were hoping for one more son.

After all, Sherlock wasn’t going to inherit the Crown, so how did it really matter?

So that evening, Mycroft had returned from his lessons and looked at Sherlock lying there in the cradle, fast asleep under Martha Hudson’s watchful eye and whispered to him. “I promise I will protect you brother mine. Through sickness and health, for better or for worse, till death do us apart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Johannes Gutenberg, a goldsmith by profession, developed, circa 1439, a printing system by adapting existing technologies to printing purposes, as well as making inventions of his own. The printing press spread within several decades to over two hundred cities in a dozen European countries.
> 
> 2\. These were all ‘cures’ recommended for deafness in the 14th century--climb up very, very high then suddenly jumped down, stick a twig in the ear and keep it there all day and night, fry peach kernels in hog lard and put drops in the ear etc etc.
> 
> 3\. Mondino de Luzzi (ca. 1270 – 1326), also known as Mundinus, was an Italian physician, anatomist and professor of surgery, who lived and worked in Bologna. He is often credited as the restorer of anatomy because he made seminal contributions to the field by reintroducing the practice of public dissection of human cadavers and writing the first modern anatomical text.
> 
> 4\. Native American communities believed people born deaf were physically and mentally capable, while people in Europe would not begin to believe so until the late 16th century.  
Even earlier, between 1500 and 1700, it seems that members of the Turkish Ottoman court were using a form of signed communication and many sought-after servants were deaf, as, some argue, they were seen as more quiet and trustworthy.   
In 1620, Juan Pablo Bonet published 'Reduction of letters and art for teaching mute people to speak') in Madrid. It is considered the first modern treatise on phonetics and speech therapy, setting out a method of oral education for deaf children by means of the use of manual signs, in the form of a manual alphabet to improve communication with the deaf. It is suggested that Pedro Ponce de León developed the first manual alphabet from which Juan Pablo Bonet based his writings.   
In Britain, manual alphabets were also in use for a number of purposes, such as secret communication, public speaking, or communication by deaf people. In 1648, John Bulwer described "Master Babington", a deaf man proficient in the use of a manual alphabet, "contryved on the joynts of his fingers", whose wife could converse with him easily, even in the dark through the use of tactile signing.[


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Crown Prince and his brother grow up and grow closer everyday.  
But alas, the real world crowds in upon their safe space.

For Mycroft those cold but majestic and soaring stone walls, the grand tapestries that lined them, the gold flecked paintings, the bejewelled artefacts, in fact every single treasure within the palace paled completely in comparison to the one thing of beauty that lived there.

Sherlock.

As Sherlock grew into a young boy Mycroft swiftly realized that locked inside that mute skull was the most magnificent brain he had had the fortune to encounter. One that could come closest to matching his own. 

Mycroft remembered how Sherlock would be like a whirlwind, a veritable maelstrom, creating pandemonium and chaos from the moment he woke up to the time he went to bed.

His experiments often drove the staff mad.

A desire to catalogue different types of ashes being the latest which had led to small bonfires and the destruction of many furnishings till Mycroft had put a stop to it.

Sherlock had signed at him wildly, cursing him for not having a scientific temperament and no interest in logic and deductions. He had already identified 243 types of ashes and he showed Mycroft his work.

Cotton, silk, velvet, pelts, feathers, tobacco, leaves…..Mycroft was fascinated by the catalogue.

“Well done” He had signed, much to the chagrin of the head Keeper of the Wardrobes. “But please don’t cause any more damage to the household Lock. I have obtained something for you which will be far more interesting.”

At a signal from Mycroft the page brought in a wooden box and opened it with elaborate care.

“What is this?” Sherlock signed.

“The man who invented it calls it a ‘microscope’. It shows us the smallest details which make up things. Isn’t that far more exciting than burning things down my beloved?” Mycroft signed, hopefully.

If only he had the luxury of indulging in his desires like Sherlock could. But alas, heavy is the head that wears the crown.

He had duties. Obligations. Necessities. Responsibilities. Commitments.

But he could fulfil his dream through Sherlock. He would encourage him and support him and make sure that he could always follow his dreams.

“Of course the man who invented it also says that the Earth revolves around the Sun and not the other way around. So I don’t know really…” Mycroft trailed off with a shrug.

Sherlock was ‘listening’ to all this intently and Mycroft could see the wheels spinning inside his brain. At the last statement Sherlock blinked and smiled. And signed back.

“Does it matter? If the Earth revolves around the Sun or the other way around? If I am the centre of your universe or you are mine? We are still bound together forever.” When he finished signing he reached out and tapped Mycroft on his chest.

Mycroft felt as though his heart was going to burst. If it wasn’t for the presence of maids and footmen and pages and at least six other people, Mycroft would have clasped the boy…no young man, almost as tall as him now, to his bosom and ruffled his hair.

However, discretion in all things was Mycroft’s life story and hence a smile and a nod was all he could use to convey his response to Sherlock. And a quick discreet double tap of his palm over his heart which earned back a dazzling smile.

_Mine. Beloved._

_._

_._

There were days when Mycroft was called to intervene because things got rough during his horse riding and sword practise, his elaborate ‘games’ which involved hunting for treasure inside the Palace and when he neglected his reading and writing practise.

Mycroft hated to see Sherlock hurt and hated it even more when his own scolding made Sherlock sulk. But he took his role as guardian very seriously. Their parents had never really been there for the two of them and Mycroft would often think, (partly in amusement and partly with melancholy) that he was raised by the library and Martha Hudson, who provided food for his brain and food for his body. He found the purpose of his life when Sherlock was born and since then neither of them really noticed their parents’ benign absence in their lives.

As they grew older, Mycroft had many responsibilities in his role as Crown Prince and he hated it when days went by and he could only glimpse Sherlock in passing, during meals or when he was already asleep by the time Mycroft was done with his work.

But the worst days of all were when Mycroft had to be away from the Palace. Whether it was on hunts (which he deeply hated) , for occasions where his presence was required or expected such as other Royal Weddings (which he hated even more) and once a year for mock war games, which he would really enjoy, if it wasn’t for the fact that he missed Sherlock intensely on such days.

Sherlock had learnt swordplay and warfare and could ride a horse as perfectly as the best in the army. But when Mycroft was away, Sherlock needed to be at the Palace to fulfil some of his duties. Despite high expectations the Queen had produced no more sons. There were two more children, both daughters, who had not survived beyond the first birthday. Thus, both Princes could not be away at the same time.

“It is bad planning.” Mycroft had tried to explain this when Sherlock had thrown a massive fit when he found out that Mycroft was going away without him. Again. “To lose one Prince may be regarded as misfortune but to lose both? That looks like carelessness.”

Sherlock had looked back at him in horror and signed furiously. “Lose one Prince?! Lose you?? That is NOT a misfortune. That is a tragedy worse than death. How can you…how could you…..” And he had burst out in tears and fled from the room.

It had taken all of Mycroft’s patience and diplomatic skills to soothe the angry young man and get him to understand that truly uneasy lies the head that would wear the crown.

“Everyone has responsibilities beloved. All the world’s a stage and all men and women merely players.”

Sherlock glared at him, fury barely controlled, hands zipping through the air as he signed. “Change the script then. Write another play.”

Mycroft smiled at him sadly. “I wish I could Lock. But I need you to be here while I am away. Safe. And in charge. Can you do that for me?”

“Only if you promise me that you will come back.” Sherlock had signed, his energy drained of all the rage and now drooping with sadness.

“Always.” Mycroft signed as he left Sherlock with a heavy heart.

He knew that life was nasty, brutish and short and often wondered if it was merely a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. But then he counted his blessings. If Sherlock had been born in any other family, he would not have survived those nasty ‘cures’ and the world would have been a poorer place. If he had not been born rich and royal, he would not have been able to guard him and raise him to this magnificent and beautiful young man that he had now become.

It is what it is.

.

.

Sherlock had a passion for learning new things and was willing to work really hard for it --if it caught his fancy of course! A bored Sherlock was as difficult to move as a horse cart in quicksand. But the things that he enjoyed? He sparkled at them, and rejoiced in the mastery.

Just the other day he had managed to defeat Mycroft in swordplay and had laughed soundlessly for a long time as he proceeded to tie him to a tree as his prisoner. Mycroft rolled his eyes in mock frustration, while bursting with pride on the inside and Greg watched them both as he stood there, leaning against the courtyard wall, chewing on a twig. Greg suspected that some parts of the defeat were owed to Mycroft allowing it to happen but he never got tired of watching the indulgent Crown Prince with his devoted younger brother.

Every year the boy seemed to grow in beauty and skills and some of the murmurs of admiration were turning to jealousy and then to vicious gossip.

_His older brother was too fond of him wasn’t he? _

In times where brother killed brother for the throne and where fathers killed sons, such closeness was viewed with deep suspicion. Greg never conveyed this gossip to Mycroft but he kept his eyes and ears open. Treason and rebellion had often been sparked off by far less.

However, despite Greg’s own discretion, the rumours eventually found its way to the Prince Regent.

The first time Mycroft heard it, his heart had leaped into his throat.

_What were they insinuating?? That he had taken advantage of his brother because he was deaf? That he felt for him things which were sinful? _

Yes they were close, very close and in fact Sherlock had been extremely tactile as child. What with all the signing and learning vocalization, he and Sherlock were constantly touching each other, on their hands, faces, lips, throat, always looking into each other’s eyes. Sherlock’s fingertips were on his throat as he tried to understand the words Mycroft was saying. His intense gaze on Mycroft’s lips as he practised lip reading. His hands holding his hand as he tried to sign words on his palm.

There were moments when Mycroft felt overwhelmed with Sherlock being literally all over him, occupying all his senses at once. He was touching him, holding his hand, making him watch as he signed and also lip read.

It was easy for an outsider to mis-interpret this, Mycroft would reason to himself. He knew there was nothing but devotion and nothing sinful at all in the way they felt for each other. It was love. It was divine. It was a blessing.

But he needed to be careful. He needed Sherlock to be safe. If anything happened to him…Mycroft could not even bear to think about the possibility of living beyond that.

.

.

Since he was often away and very busy even when around that he had always made special efforts to ensure that Sherlock was guarded and under surveillance for 24 hours.

_Not that it always worked_ he thought in annoyance.

_How many times had he found John or Gregory leaning against a wall, head in hands because Sherlock had sneaked away or stolen their horse or sword or somehow got the better of them?_

When Gregory had presented John as a potential personal bodyguard a few years ago Mycroft had thought they had found a solution.

Sherlock seemed to have taken a liking to the other young man and had been rather pleased at having a friend of his own in the Palace the way Mycroft had Gregory. They had become almost inseparable and while Mycroft was happy to see him happy, he did have a few pangs of something he could not name. Would not name.

_Well, maybe he was jealous. A little._ And he could now fully sympathize with the young Sherlock who had thrown the bucket of water on him and Greg.

While he was musing thus, watching Sherlock and John fool around in the gardens, Sherlock would turn and catch his eye and wink and sign something ridiculous which would make him laugh.

He would tap over his heart. _Beloved._

Then that soft shy smile from Sherlock would be incandescent enough light up the Palace and the grounds.

.

.

While away at the war games, Mycroft would work till exhausted and sleep like a fallen tree. But during every free moment his hands would be restless from having no one to sign to. His eyes would be reaching for a glimpse of that riot of curls, that impish grin, that impatient flurry of hands as Sherlock signed rapidly, always in a tearing hurry, his thoughts running at a thousand times the speed than his hands could possibly mange.

He would find himself signing to Sherlock in the dark, at night before sleeping. _Goodnight Lock. Sleep well_.

.

.

Such days were hard on Sherlock too.

One day as they lay under the stars after Mycroft’s return from one such long separation, Sherlock had slowly signed to Mycroft.

“I wish I could speak directly to your mind. No need for words. No hands. No lips. I feel like I am locked in a box. Inside my mind. And no one can hear what I want to say.”

Mycroft had smiled at him and signed back. “I can. I can hear you inside my heart. All the time.”

He had taken Sherlock’s hand and placed it on his heart and asked him “Can you hear that? That is you.”

Sherlock had rolled his eyes and pushed him away. He had signed “Caring is not an advantage. Remember?”

“Maybe I was wrong?” Mycroft asked, only half joking.

“The King can do no wrong.” Sherlock signed.

“Oh well, I am not yet the King.” Mycroft said smiling.

“I wish you would never become King.” Sherlock signed, suddenly serious, his eyes dark pools of blue.

Mycroft just looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

“I wish we could be free.” Sherlock signed slowly. “To run away. Far away. To go live on the moon. Just you and me.”

Then Sherlock scrambled up and pulled Mycroft up. They looked over the ramparts of the palace and saw the dark countryside spread out like a black velvet cloak all around, shining in the light of the full moon.

“This Kingdom, these riches, this power. It is all ashes in my mouth every time we are separated. One day you will be King and you will have no time for me.” Sherlock was signing. “You will forget me. And then what I am supposed to do?!”

“Oh Sherlock!” Mycroft tried not to laugh at these dramatic outpourings from his fiery and passionate beloved brother. “I promise, I will give up the entire Kingdom if it will make you happy and there is nothing on Earth that can make me forget you. Trust me. But tonight let’s go down and get some sleep! You know that King James and his family are arriving tomorrow and you will also need to be around and be polite.”

He laughed as Sherlock rolled his eyes and then holding hands they went down the stairs to their bed chambers.

.

.

Little they know that the next day would shatter the bubble within which they had lived and would threaten the very core of their beings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. In the late 16th century several Dutch lens makers designed devices that magnified objects, but in 1609 Galileo Galilei perfected the first device known as a microscope. Dutch spectacle makers Zaccharias Janssen and Hans Lipperhey are noted as the first men to develop the concept of the compound microscope.
> 
> 2\. It is a tale. Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury. Signifying nothing. — Macbeth (Act 5, Scene 5, lines 17-28)
> 
> 3\. Rex Non Potest Peccare Definition: Latin: the king can do no wrong. This maxim has been the background of the legal principle, mostly now discarded, that a citizen could not sue the state for any alleged tort.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft watches as King James defiles with his eyes all that he holds sacred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!! This month has been so hectic I have had no time to read or write fanfics! So finally I had some time to breathe and think and here is a new chapter if anyone is still reading this :P Hope you enjoy it!

The first thing Mycroft did when he entered the royal court the next morning was to look for Sherlock. He glanced at his younger brother as he stood by the throne on the other side from him, mesmerized as always by his radiant beauty and the pride in his heart always threatening to overwhelm him. Sherlock was dressed in his most magnificent princely robes today but Mycroft thought that even if he was clad in torn sacking cloth, no one would be able to hold a candle to his beloved.

He was so deep in his thoughts of adoration that he was shaken out of them only when everyone started clapping and the guards started pounding the stone floor with their spears.

He looked towards the entrance and discovered that King James had swept into court with his entourage, a mink robe being held up by pageboys behind him and a smirk on his face as he enjoyed all the bowing and applause.

King James Moriarty was offered the guest seat one step below the throne and then offered the best of wine and food from the royal kitchens as the bugles were blown and a band could be heard playing in the courtyard outside.

King James waved a hand towards the Holmes royal family and then tipped the silver cup in salutation, his beady black eyes looking at each one of them in turn, sending a shiver down Mycroft’s spine.

James then brought the cup to his lips and drank it all in one greedy gulp. He kept it down on the tray being held out next to him, and turned his hungry eyes back to Sherlock and licked his lips while tilting his head to one side appreciatively.

Sherlock was looking elsewhere at that moment but Mycroft saw the look and had to fight down the urge to pull his sword out of the scabbard and cut this man’s head off that instant.

He felt a hand touch his own as it gripped the hilt and looked down to see Gregory, shaking his head in the slightest way to caution him. Mycroft wasn’t sure if it was worse that Greg had also noticed the look which meant it was real or that it was better that someone else had also seen it and he wasn’t being paranoid.

It was all he could do to stand there next to his parents, trembling with rage while keeping the smallest smile possible on his face so as to not draw anyone’s attention.

If what he had heard about the dark King was true then he had spies everywhere, probably even inside their palace. There were some who said King James had actually been born of a snake and could speak the language of animals.

Mycroft had always dismissed these as stories spun out of ignorance. After all, till some years ago humans believed that the Sun revolved around the Earth and not the other way around! So, he had refused to accept such tales which had no logic and no evidence. But today, watching those hooded eyes and the dark pupils stare at Sherlock, Mycroft could almost believe that he saw a forked tongue flick over that wet lower lip. This man was poison in human form and Mycroft wished he had been able to persuade his father to have nothing to do with him. But alas, it was too late now. All he could hope to do was limit the damage this man could cause.

Sherlock chose just that moment to look over at him and give him a soft smile and Mycroft smiled back instantly, the world suddenly appearing to be a better place, wondering how no one could actually see the love radiating out between the two of them.

He never noticed King James look over at the two of them and laugh to himself.

_So the rumours about these two princes were true after all._ James Moriarty thought to himself._ This whole ‘managing a Kingdom’ stuff was SO borrring. Almost not worth killing his father for. Should have kept the old fool alive and under a spell. But this? This was going to be fun! The Game’s afoot_.

So he drank another cup of wine and let some of it dribble down his chin. He then made an elaborate gesture of wiping it down , never taking his eyes off Mycroft as he did so, watching him try so hard not to squirm.

_Oh this was going to be so much more fun than he had expected. That delicious young Prince and his possessive older brother!! He was going to enjoy playing with them now that their own doddering father had let him into the palace._

_._

_._

Mycroft stood there with clenched jaws and a stiff spine and felt almost a physical pain at how slowly time seemed to be passing but finally, after some more displays of pomp and splendour the Royal Guest and his entourage were led to their quarters while the others dispersed for their own duties and preparations.

While this visit was ostensibly meant to be for celebrating St George’s Day, Mycroft knew the real reason behind this visit. King James the Second had a large and well- trained army that his father thought would help if they needed allies against the expected attacks from The North. Not only that but it had been rumoured that the new King James had some dark magic workers who had helped him rise to the throne. His father King James the First had died rather suddenly and mysteriously and his mother had then sought refuge in a nunnery. The young James had been crowned King at the age of 25 and his reputation as a cruel and wanton prince had been prophetic in his new role as a King. His army was strong but the people were weak. The coffers were full but the farmers were starving. There were stories of torture and evil deeds that could not even be spoken about. Stories involving small children, animals found with their hearts missing, families burnt to death apparently through spontaneous combustion, old blind men found half eaten in the forests. Fear was like a solid presence in their land. To add to this were the whispers that his sister Irene was rumoured to be a witch and had a hearty appetite for young men in more ways than one.

Mycroft had argued fervently against trying to forge this alliance and reminded his father that Gregory had led their army to victory on every occasion that they had gone to battle against all those who had tried to attack their borders. He knew that they had the best horses and even hound dogs. They had the best medical sisters to look after the injured. The treasuries were full thanks to Mycroft’s new system of managing taxes and expenses. He made an impassioned plea not to enter into an alliance with someone he simply could not trust. He assured his father that their Kingdom could fight the invasion from The North and keep their people safe.

His father had listened to his beloved son, wise and mature beyond his years and had looked at him with weary eyes.

“Mycroft, this alliance is not for needing their help in protecting us against others, as much as it is in protecting us from them. Gregory may be the best general we have and you the best strategist, but what chance do we have against someone who is rumoured to have flying monkeys and tamed wolves? You do know that they have roots in Ireland and still maintain a very powerful fleet of ships? That is how they got the name Moriarty. When the North invades our land, his ships may be the only ones that can escape and save us all. And if we don’t forge an alliance, he may destroy us before the North even starts to move down and declare war.”

Mycroft had stared at his father, the King, looking so defeated even before any war had been declared and had prepared himself to face the worst in terms of the usual give and take for such alliances.

He had never ever dreamt of what the exchange would involve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Saint George's Day, also known as the Feast of Saint George, is the feast day of Saint George as celebrated by various Christian Churches and by the several nations, kingdoms, countries, and cities of which Saint George is the patron saint including England, and regions of Portugal and Spain (Catalonia and Aragon).  
Excerpt from Dracula, 1897: "Do you know what day it is?" I answered that it was the fourth of May. She shook her head as she said again: "Oh, yes! I know that, I know that! but do you know what day it is?" On my saying that I did not understand, she went on: "It is the eve of St. George's Day. Do you not know that tonight, when the clock strikes midnight, all the evil things in the world will have full sway?
> 
> 2\. The name Moriarty is an Anglicized version of the Irish name Ó Muircheartaigh which originated in County Kerry in Ireland. Ó Muircheartaigh can be translated to mean 'navigator' or 'sea worthy', as the Irish word muir means sea (cognate to the Latin word mare for 'sea') and ceardach means skilled.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get worse.

That afternoon as everyone rested Mycroft was restlessly pacing up and down in his bed chamber. That look King James had given Sherlock was still burned into his retina and his brain. His very bone marrow was boiling over with rage.

_But what could he do?_

He could hardly wage a war on the basis of an ‘unwelcome look’. Sherlock himself had not even noticed it. Gregory had and Mycroft knew he would be keeping an eye open for any untoward behaviour. Despite that he was uneasy and finally before the clock struck the 4th hour after noon, he found himself on the terrace practising sword play because he had too much energy to sit still any longer. He knew would get sweaty and dirty but he would bathe before the formal dinner. He had to do something to get this bad feeling out of his very bones.

It was a bad move.

He was unable to concentrate and he was filled with rage. Gregory had been kept busy with the security arrangements for the guests and of course for their own King and Queen since a large army contingent had come in with the guests from the other Kingdom.

So Mycroft had no one to share his troubles with and he certainly did not want to face Sherlock and say something to him. He knew how impulsive Sherlock was and for all his brilliance could make some very rash judgement calls. Te last thing he wanted was for Sherlock to walk into trouble because Mycroft said something he should not have.

But all that repressed anger and turmoil meant that in the very first bout he injured the soldier who was practising with him. In the next bout he hurt himself.

Speechless with anger, he dismissed the soldiers with a brisk wave of his uninjured hand. As he waited for the medicine sisters to arrive he stood by the turret seething.

He wiped the sweat off his face and then he happened to look down across the courtyard and see something that stopped his breath.

He could see Sherlock in the library, near the window, with James Moriarty standing in front of him, holding Sherlock’s face by the chin and running one hand down his face.

Mycroft was never really able to recall how he reached the library that day. It felt to him like he flew right across the yard and through the window but the terrified soldiers and sisters saw him galloping down the stairs and up the next and blazing into the library as Sherlock stood there like a marble statue, staring in front of him with blank eyes.

King James was crooning at him, calling him an angel and telling him that they were going to have so much fun.

James stopped talking as soon as Mycroft charged into the room, but Sherlock kept staring at the wall in front. Mycroft felt his blood run cold at the thought that James might have cast some kind of spell on him.

“Sherlock!” He shouted but of course Sherlock couldn’t hear him and he couldn’t lip-read because he wasn’t looking at him.

King James tilted his head at Mycroft in that sinister way he had and clicked his tongue as four of his guards took one step in front, effectively closing off Sherlock and their King in a loose circle while Mycroft stood on the outside.

“My dear Prince!” King James sighed. “Is this any way to treat an esteemed Royal Guest in your Kingdom? I am bored. He is entertaining me. Yet you disturbed us by charging in here like a herd of wild horses. I really must have a word with your father about this.”

He shook his head and made a sad face. “Your father assured me that I could make myself comfortable in his Kingdom and here we are. Getting comfortable.”

Then he peeped in front of Sherlock’s face and asked “Aren’t we my angel?”

As Mycroft stood there choking with anger and fear, trying to figure out if he could overpower all four guards alone and where the HELL were Gregory and John, King James suddenly stepped beyond the guards and came right up into his face and spoke in a menacing sing-song voice.

“Have you heard my favourite bed time story Mycroft? It is the story of Prince Boast-a-lot. Everyone said that he was the bravest and cleverest Prince in all of England and their people were happy and soldiers were strong and their treasuries were full. They said his people loved him. Love?! Ugh. It is better to be feared than loved! But soon the other Princes in other Kingdoms began to grow tired of these stories about how brave he was and how many dragons he’d slain and how kind he was and how good his tax system was. Taxes?! Why do you need taxes?!” King James rolled his eyes. “So BORRIING!! Everything in my Kingdom belongs to me!! I don’t need silly old taxes. I can take what I want, when I want.”

Mycroft called out to Sherlock again but his brother was facing away and just stood there as though frozen. He forced himself to pay attention to what James was saying. Maybe Gregory and John were on their way and he should keep this evil man busy and not focussing on Sherlock.

King James took an apple from the fruit basket and walked in a slow circle around Mycroft as he talked. “So this precious treasure of your Kingdom—is it gold? Silver? Rubies? Diamonds? They said that Prince Boast-a-lot would protect his Kingdom at any cost……but was that really true? So one of the Kings who was so bored of hearing these stories decided to go and find out. “I don’t believe Prince Boast-a-lot’s stories. He’s just a big old liar who makes things up to make himself look good and make me look bad. So…..does he want to keep his Kingdom safe at any cost or is there something that is more precious to him? The greater good for the greatest number and all that…..What is he willing to sacrifice for his people?”

King James came and stood in front of Mycroft and threw the half eaten apple at his feet and gave an exaggerated yawn. “And that…” King James said, “That is the Final Problem. Isn’t it?”

“Your father wants me to keep your people safe.” James said and he shrugged. “I can do that. But I'm not interested in preserving the status quo; I want to overthrow it. And why should I protect your people for free? I don’t care if they die! That’s what people do!”

He looked back at where Sherlock was still standing like a statue.

“Do you know how BORING it is to be a King? I could do with someone to entertain me. Someone as clever as me, and beautiful to look at. Someone who can’t even scream when we are having all kinds of fun in my bed chamber. …..What do you say my dear Prince? Is that a fair deal? For the greater good and all that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. "It is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot be both." Machiavelli. The Prince
> 
> 2\. “I'm not interested in preserving the status quo; I want to overthrow it.” Machiavelli. The Prince
> 
> 3\. The appearance of clocks in writings of the 11th century implies that they were well known in Europe in that period. In the early 14th-century, the Florentine poet Dante Alighieri referred to a clock in his Paradiso; the first known literary reference to a clock that struck the hours. Giovanni da Dondi, Professor of Astronomy at Padua, presented the earliest detailed description of clockwork in his 1364 treatise Il Tractatus Astrarii.


	6. Chapter 6




	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock runs away. Mycroft waits for him to return. Things are said and done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is still reading this --sorry for the terrible delays in updating ! I wanted to work on this chapter some more but real life is being a tough tiger to ride at present, so here is the best I could do. Hope you enjoy it :)

This time there was no force on earth that would be able to stop Mycroft from pulling out his sword and killing this evil incarnate on the spot, and hang the consequences!

But apparently the dark arts were more powerful than his righteous anger and with a flick of his wrist James Moriarty froze him in place and gave a high-pitched giggle at the expression on Mycroft’s face. He then moved towards Sherlock and tilted his head and leaned in as if to kiss him.

Mycroft must have lost consciousness at that point because when he came to he found himself in his bed chamber with his father and mother sitting by his bedside, looking very worried.

“Father! Your highness!” Mycroft said, bewildered at seeing him there and still feeling heavy headed and disoriented. His very next question was “Where is Sherlock?”

“Gregory said he went off on Thunderbolt for a ride. Don’t worry about him.” The Queen said in a soothing voice.

The King then patted his arm and said. “We have some excellent news for you my son. King James has been so pleased by our hospitality that he has offered the hand of his sister the Crown Princess Irene in marriage to the Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Holmes as a political alliance to protect both kingdoms from the invaders coming from the North.”

Mycroft stared at him, blinking in confusion.

_He should know what all this meant… he knew these people. Who were they?_

It came to him slowly. Crown Princess Irene. _King James Moriarty’s sister._

The Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Holmes. _That would be him._

And of course his foolish parents had accepted it.

Mycroft’s blood ran cold.

_He needed to find Sherlock! What had that diabolical monster done?!! This was clearly his revenge on Mycroft for having dared stop him from touching Sherlock. But had he actually managed? _

_Why could he not remember anything?!_

The King was still speaking. “We have decided that we will declare the betrothal tomorrow with the entire court as witness. Princess Irene is not here but of course her brother speaks for her and he has already sent her a raven informing her of the good news.”

Mycroft stood up from the bed, still a bit wobbly and bowed to his parents.

“Your wish is my command Father. Mother. Now if you will excuse me I MUST find Sherlock.”

“Of course son.” his father said, smiling. “You must find him and give him the wonderful news! We are sure he will be delighted for you! King James was telling us how well he had got along with him. ‘Charming and agreeable’, he said. That is quite a change from the way he is with others!”

“Yes. “ The Queen added. “It will be good for Sherlock to make friends outside our Palace. He can’t depend on you forever can he?”

“Mother!” Mycroft said, barely suppressing the urge to shake her. “I will always be there for him. No matter what happens. Yes he CAN depend on me forever! Please remember that. And now I must leave!”

With that he swiftly stepped out and found Gregory and John standing there, hanging their heads in shame.

“Where is Sherlock?!” Mycroft hissed at them in barely suppressed anger.

Greg and John refused to meet his eyes and told him that the head of King James’ guard had somehow managed to drug them and then get past them into the library where Sherlock was sitting.

No one knew what happened there but after Mycroft was brought out because he had collapsed, it seems Sherlock had left the library, gone straight to the stables and taken off at such a gallop on his favourite horse that no one had a chance to even go with him let alone stop him.

Mycroft listened to all this with growing anger and frustration. He wanted to whip these two idiots for losing sight of the most precious thing in this entire damn palace!

_What was he supposed to do now?!! How was he going to find his beloved?! And what the hell had that demon King done to him??_

_._

_._

As the shadows grew longer, Mycroft’s heart sank into despair and then fear and then into useless rage.

_What was the point of being Crown Prince and all those years of doing good if the universe could do this to them in return?! In one fell swoop an evil man had not only trapped Mycroft in the most un-holy alliance but also attempted to molest and somehow disturb Sherlock. _

_His innocent beloved Sherlock, an angel among men._

He wanted to punch something. He wanted to kill someone.

He wanted to tear apart this entire world if it would keep Sherlock safe.

But alas, all he could do right now was wait.

As the bitter evening lengthened into a harsh night and then into a moonlit midnight, Mycroft stood by the Palace walls, along with Gregory and John. Almost every hour a couple of the guards would return with their heads bowed.

_No_. They would report. _They had not found Sherlock._

Every such message was like an ice cold spear inside Mycroft’s heart.

All three of them were getting more anxious with every minute. Gregory looking guilty and miserable as he felt responsible. John seething at himself because he _was_ responsible. Mycroft veering between volcanic rage and anguished terror as the hours slipped by.

It was now barely two hours from dawn when Mycroft was making plans to finally go out himself and search at the first light when Sherlock finally sneaked in as quiet as a panther.

But of course Mycroft saw him. He realized that Sherlock must have dismounted outside the gates and then climbed the wall from the secret passage that only a handful of them knew.

When Mycroft caught sight of him, the relief he felt was so enormous that all he wanted to do was embrace him and never ever let him go. He stepped forward to do just that when he smelt something.

_The boy had been drinking?_

While they were worried sick and waiting for him into the night, not only had Sherlock just disappeared without any message but he had been out drinking alcohol?! Alone? Without any guards or protection? In the middle of the night?

_Did he have any idea just HOW irresponsible this was?!! How could he do this?!_

Before Mycroft could think, the rage overtook the terror. In a mad frenzy he took off his belt and cracked it through the air and whipped him. Once. Twice. Three times.

The belt was about to whistle through the air and land on Sherlock’s back for the fourth time when John and Greg both leaped in front of Sherlock and begged Mycroft to stop.

Mycroft threw the belt aside, his hands shaking with rage.

He signed to Sherlock with his hands barely visible because of the speed, while also yelling at him.

“Sherlock!!! What the hell were you thinking??!Do you know _how easy_ it would be for someone to kill you or kidnap you if you are drunk?? You _IDIOT_. You cannot even shout or cry for help?!! And what would I do if that happened?”

And in the midst of this wild signing Mycroft felt himself tremble and cry.

“Your loss would break my heart Sherlock!! How _could_ you? I…I wouldn’t be able to …..you….”

Sherlock was ‘listening’ to him looking right into his eyes, un- blinking and stubborn, not even flinching at the belting, but when he saw a tear slide down Mycroft‘s cheek, he ignored his own pain and just sank to his knees at Mycroft’s feet, head bowed.

There was no need for any sign or words to demonstrate what he wanted to say.

Mycroft’s anger disappeared in an instant and he kneeled down and embraced him gently.

“Sorry Lock. Please forgive me?” Mycroft signed. “I love you!”

“Fine way of showing it.” Sherlock signed with a sarcastic smile, pointing at his own back, where surely now welts were forming

Mycroft bowed his head. “I am ashamed.” He signed.

“Don’t be. It was my mistake.”

“But I should never have raised my hand on you. I am so sorry! What happened in the library today Sherlock? Why did you run out like this? Please tell me Sherlock….”

Just then Greg intervened. “Your Highness, you have a very long day ahead of you. You really must get some rest now. And Sherlock probably needs some medicine for his back. Perhaps we should all return to the bed chambers and deal with this in private.”

John escorted Sherlock back while Gregory stood with Mycroft watching both of them leave. As they climbed up the first set of steps, Sherlock stopped and turned around to look at Mycroft.

“I am sorry.” He signed.

“No Lock. I am sorry.” Mycroft signed back, bowing his head. “Please forgive me.”

Sherlock stood there, his eyes full of storms and unspoken tragedies and for the first time ever Mycroft wished that he could speak to him. That he could hear him.

Sherlock just stood there looking at Mycroft as though he wanted to memorize him. As thought he was physically incapable of walking away from him. After a long minute John touched Sherlock lightly on the shoulder to remind him to start walking up again. Sherlock sighed, turned and walked up the stairs.

Mycroft kept watching him till he was out of sight and then sat with his head in his hands.

“Gregory, I don’t know what King James did to him and I don’t know what is going to happen tomorrow but you have to promise me that you will be Sherlock’s shadow. You will not allow what happened today.”

“Your Highness, I will guard him with my life.” Greg said and from the fire in his eyes Mycroft knew that he meant it.

.

.

That night Mycroft could not sleep.

The sight of Sherlock returning drunk, after having been out alone at night, and his own utterly unworthy rage and reaction…ugh…it was the stuff of his worst nightmares. That Sherlock, with all his genius and brilliance, could be held captive or taken advantage of by some lout with two brain cells, only because he could not hear.

His beautiful and beloved Sherlock.

Mycroft was increasingly restless and turning from one side to another as though the welts were on his own back.

Finally he got up and went to Sherlock’s room. He found the apothecary’s daughter Molly there, putting medicine on his back and soothing him with cold packs.

As soon as she saw him, she got up and bowed low. He gestured for her to leave and he sat down in her place, holding the pack to Sherlock’s red and hot back.

Sherlock was sleeping on his stomach, bare back glistening with the ointment. He turned his head to see what had happened as he felt Molly get up and Mycroft sit down.

He saw Mycroft and scowled. _Go away_ he waved.

Mycroft didn’t go away. He touched the back of his head with infinite tenderness. Sherlock’s body was shaking. _Sherlock was crying! _

The brother he had vowed to protect and keep from all harm had been almost molested by that cunning and cruel man earlier and now he was crying and in pain because of him!!

_What punishment would be good enough for him?!!_

Mycroft’s heart was aching as sat down on the floor so he could look at Sherlock’s face. He wiped his tears, swept his hair off his forehead and waited till the tears stopped. Finally.

Sherlock still refused to look at him and Mycroft had to press the signs into his forearm.

‘Sorry. Please forgive me. Sorry. Beloved. Sorry.’

After many many such entreaties, Sherlock finally turned his head and looked at Mycroft with eyes red from pain and heavy with sorrow.

“I am so sorry Sherlock. Please. Tell me what that man did to you in the library?! I was just so angry because I worry about you. Constantly. If you want to drink I will give you…..if you want to…anything you want to do Sherlock ….. I will arrange it for you. You know that. But please don’t go out of my sight Sherlock. You cannot go away alone like that. It makes me afraid.”

“You can’t look after me forever. Will I live with you forever Mycroft?” Sherlock signed, fingers moving slowly and sadly.

“I wish you would.” Mycroft signed back, with a small smile.

“Even after you have a wife?”

“Yes, of course! Who told you….What has that….”

Sherlock turned his head away.

“Sherlock, please talk to me.”

Sherlock pulled himself up and sat on the bed, facing Mycroft who was still sitting at his feet. He signed to him, faster and angrier now. “Won’t she be the centre of your universe? You will hold her hands and she will have you children and you will…..forget me.”

“Oh Sherlock, no, never! Please. You have to believe me!” Mycroft was pleading with him. “Beloved.”

“No. You should forget me. I am holding you back. You will start to hate me. You cannot have me as your beloved when you have her.” Sherlock signed, not making any eye contact with Mycroft.

Mycroft just looked at him in increasing despair and asked “What did King James say to you today?”

Sherlock shrugged. “He said that once our kingdoms are allied, I should go see how he looks in a crown. He said that you could be so much more if you didn’t have to keep worrying about me and looking after me. He said you could rule the world if you chose to……….”

Mycroft stared at him and started to sign “No…. don’t you ever …..” when Sherlock held both his hands in his own and stopped him. He signed. “Do you know why I ran away and got drunk today?”

“Why? Tell me.” Mycroft asked promptly though suddenly he wasn’t sure if he wanted to really know.

Sherlock didn’t say anything. Just closed his eyes and one tear rolled down his cheek.

“Because I am getting engaged tomorrow?” Mycroft whispered, forgetting to sign.

Sherlock turned and signed furiously. “You said you are mine! Mine!! And tomorrow you will pledge yourself to someone else?”

“Oh Sherlock!” Mycroft said in despair. “You are my brother. I will always be yours.”

“I don’t want you like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want you like this.” Sherlock leaned down and grabbed his face and kissed him on the lips.

Mycroft pulled back like had been scalded.

“That is why I was in pain Mycroft. Because I love you and you don’t know it.”

“Sherlock! You know I love you.”

“No. Not like that. “

“Like what?”

And Sherlock kissed him again. On the lips.

“You think because I can’t talk I can’t feel? I love John. I love Greg. But not like this. I don’t want to do this with them like I want to with you. I want you to touch me. I want you to kiss me. I want you to always be kissing me.”

“Oh Sherlock! Please stop!” Mycroft signed. “You have these feelings for me that you are confusing with this kind of love because you haven’t had anyone else. You need…to meet more people. To find someone who will be your companion for life. Some beautiful princess for you too?”

“I don’t want any princess. I only want you.”

“Sherlock this cannot be. I have duties, obligations that you cannot even begin to understand. Please. I am begging you to stop this madness.”

“Have you had anyone? I know they call you The Virgin.”

“No. I …did not want to sire a child and have them both suffer the way.”

“Like Greg and his mother you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Is it also because you don’t like women that way?” Sherlock asked, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

Mycroft sighed and signed. “Yes Sherlock that is also one of the reasons. But as I told you, I have responsibilities. Promise to keep. Duties towards the people of this Kingdom. If such word gets out then the enemies are always waiting at our borders, to tear us apart and destroy us and the common people will suffer. The women in the villages, the men, the weak. I cannot do this to them to follow the song of my heart.”

“Even if that song is me?” Sherlock asked, tears filling his eyes now.

“Even if. Sherlock. And you _are_ the song in my heart.” Mycroft finally had to say it.

_What timing Mycroft! _he thought to himself._ The night before your engagement ?!__ Well done….._

He was on his knees in front of Sherlock now and holding his face in his hands.

“But I cannot sing that song Sherlock. Neither of us can. We are prisoners of our birth. Maybe in some other life….I promise you. I make a vow. In any lifetime that we are born again, I will find you and make you mine.”

Sherlock moved in and touched their foreheads together and thought to himself _I have no patience for other lifetimes Mycroft. I am going to claim you in this one. We are like magnets. Meant to be stuck to each other. We will attract each other through everything. Through your stupid princely robes, through your flimsy marriage, even through the walls of this palace. You taught me to be a strategist. Now I will use that knowledge._


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Love is not love which alters it when alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove  
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out, even to the edge of doom."
> 
> Shakespeare Sonnet 116

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life has been relentlessly been at it. Meetings, work, staff issues, family illnesses, multiplied by many times....But this is why we read and write fanfiction !1 To escape!  
So here I am, escaping for a quick while and hopefully helping you do the same :)

As they were ‘talking’ to each other, someone else was also awake.

Someone who had been worried for Sherlock and who had always known how special the love between these two was. Who had understood it in her own heart long ago, even before they recognized it in each other, that even if it was seen as the Devil’s work, it was anything but that. These two were soulmates and it seemed to her that heaven had conspired to have them be born in the same family so that they would be sure to find each other.

Although not a witch herself, she had learnt enough from the ones she knew to recognize pure evil when she saw it and King James had given off waves of that from the moment he had stepped foot into this palace.

Now her boys were going to be in danger.

Despite these fervent declarations of love she knew that Mycroft would never give up the safety of his King and their people. She also knew that Sherlock would never give in and ‘obey.’

So she did what she could in order to save them both. She sent a raven to the Grand Coven led by the powerful and all-knowing Witch Anthea Aurelia, seeking her help.

Then she went to meet Gregory and John and explained to them what would be needed from them.

“Yes of course Mistress Hudson.” Both of them said immediately. “Whatever it takes.”

.

.

The betrothal by proxy took place in the Grand Court the next day with the High Priestess taking the ring offered by King James of behalf of Princess Irene and handing back to him the ring offered by the Prince Regent Mycroft.

Sherlock had been excused from attending since he was unwell but at the exact moment that Mycroft was handing over his ring, the massive doors of the Great Hall opened and everyone turned to see what had happened.

Sherlock strode in through them, magnificent and proud, with only the slight stiffness to his back betraying his wounds. He looked straight at Mycroft and walked on till he reached him and took his place next to him, as always.

Mycroft hesitated for a moment before handing his ring over. King James smirked as he accepted it from the High Priestess.

The crowd erupted in cheers and there was music to be heard from the Outer Courtyard. 

King James was smiling in his sickeningly oily way and speaking. “This is a great moment in the history of both of Kingdoms. Once our kingdoms are united in holy matrimony all citizens and royal family members will be welcome to move freely amongst both lands. What is mine will be your and what is yours will be mine.”

As he finished speaking his gaze turned from the crowds and the King and landed on Sherlock.

Mycroft’s blood ran cold as he realized that his marriage to this man’s sister would mean easy access for this man to Sherlock. His innocent beautiful Sherlock who wanted to follow him to the ends of the earth. He clenched his fists by his side and just stood there, murderous rage inside his heart and a calm expression on his marble face.

.

.

Bugles were blown and celebrations started up in the Queen’s Ballroom. A magnificent feast had been laid out for this momentous occasion.

As they all got up to walk there Sherlock firmly walked every step of the way by Mycroft’s side and when they reached there he turned and asked for his hand in dance.

There was a wave of whispering and some laughter but Mycroft simply smiled and gave him his hand.

As the orchestra played, these two dapper young men, elegant and supremely talented showed the entire court and all the guests exactly how a waltz is to be danced.

When it was over (too soon! too soon!) Sherlock let go of Mycroft and tapped his chest. _Beloved._ Then he bowed low and was gone.

.

.

King James left that same evening and in two days a message was sent back confirming the Royal Wedding. He said that their High priest had suggested a date in mid-February when the winter would be almost gone and it would an auspicious beginning for the wedded couple to start their life together on the feast of St. Valentine.

When the message was read out in court Sherlock was standing there next to Mycroft but never making any eye contact with him. Since the betrothal he had avoided Mycroft as much as he could, barely seeing him during his duties.

Mycroft had tried to find ways to meet Sherlock and talk to him but his own work had increased and he really didn’t know what to say to Sherlock. He certainly didn’t want to spend more time with him in private with this impending marriage hanging over his head like the sword of Damocles.

So he had to satisfy himself with glimpses he caught when Sherlock was out on his horse or sometimes when he saw him ‘talking’ to Gregory and John. It broke his heart every single time he tried to go across and meet him and then Gregory and John would try to bow out and leave but Sherlock would stop them and instead turn around and leave himself.

.

.

As the wedding preparations were ongoing Greg brought Mycroft the news of some skirmishes on the other border. It did not sound serious enough to involve the Crown Prince but Gregory took the decision that he would send Sherlock and John there for settling it

“The wedding is two months away Your Highness.” He reminded Mycroft. “Neither you nor I can leave the Kingdom at this point in time. This skirmish is child’s play. Let Sherlock handle it. John is by his side, he is a sharpshooter and we will send Molly with them for the medical tent.”

So it was that Sherlock John and an entire contingent left at dawn for the western border. Sherlock bowed and took a knee in front of his parents as the High Priestess tied a protective amulet around his biceps.

Sherlock rose, briefly looked at Mycroft and nodded, hand over heart and left.

Mycroft was just left staring behind him….unable to comprehend that he really would not see Sherlock now till the day of his wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saint Valentine of Rome was martyred on February 14 in AD 269. Many of the current legends that characterize Saint Valentine were invented in the 14th century in England, notably by Geoffrey Chaucer and his circle, when the feast day of February 14 first became associated with romantic love.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock leaves the Kingdom and John watches over him.

Sherlock and John and the contingent of 200 soldiers rode for a day till the horses needed to rest. Then they split into three groups and started moving through the night, and reached the border in a week.

Sherlock had wanted to drive them forward at a far more punishing pace and John had to use everything he could to get him to slow down to a more human speed that the army could match.

Sherlock had been on fire. The flames dancing in his eyes, the sheer anger he was radiating from every pore, scaring their own soldiers and tiring him out so much that he was sleeping like a log every night.

John was watching over him and making sure he ate regularly. He remembered what Martha Hudson had told them. Meeting the Grand Witch Anthea Aurelia was going to save not just Sherlock and Mycroft but the entire Kingdom and all their people.

This mission was not allowed to fail.

Greg had been torn between wanting to be at Sherlock’s side and his own higher duty to be with his King and Crown Prince.

Finally after much pacing and cursing he had accepted that he would not be able to leave and had reminded John with a fierce gleam in his eyes that Sherlock was to protected with his life if needed and John had reassured him that there was no way he could do anything else.

Once a soldier, always a soldier.

Greg had allowed himself to give Sherlock a terse hug which Sherlock had reciprocated. Neither would allow themselves to even suggest that this could be a final hug but it sure felt like it.

.

.

That evening, six nights after they had left the Kingdom and reached the great forest of Birnam near Scotland, John prayed once again to all the gods old and new that they would find the Grand Witch and that she could help them.

He watched as Molly handed Sherlock a special drink to keep up his strength and then stood guard as Sherlock slept under the tent they had pitched, frowning even in his deep slumber, hands twitching sometimes as he probably dreamt about talking to Mycroft and wondered what lay ahead of them.

John sat with their lead patrols and went over the plans for the next day and checked on the rations and the health of their horses.

When he went back to sit outside Sherlock’s tent he looked up at the sky and wondered what was written in their stars.

_Where would this quest end?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter but things will start moving forward soon :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Such dreams may come as speak of our waking fears

Another week of riding and finally they reached the place near the border that Greg had asked them to get to.

That night, like all other nights, Sherlock fell asleep thinking of Mycroft.

In his dream he was reaching out to Mycroft but Mycroft couldn’t see him. He tried calling out to him but he couldn’t speak. He was running towards Mycroft but was never able to catch up.

He was walking through fire to find Mycroft.

He was burning. He couldn’t breathe.

He needed air!!

He woke up with a start, sweating and breathless, to find John standing by the bed looking very worried.

“Are you ok?” He signed.

Sherlock nodded and drank the water John offered. Once he got his breath back he just looked at John, every single thought clear on his distraught face.

John gave him a weak smile and signed. “It’s going to be ok Sherlock. You need to rest well so we can march on and sort this out and go back soon.”

.

.

Later, after Sherlock had gone back to sleep, John composed a letter for Greg but then finally tore it up. Mistress Hudson had said no ravens. She didn’t trust the ravens because of King Moriarty’s black magic powers.

_There was no other way to send any message to Greg now. And even if he managed, what would Greg be able to do? They were a six day march away from the Palace.. _

_No. He had to do what he needed to do and Greg would be doing what he needed to._

.

.

Far away inside the Palace the Prince Regent had just woken up from a disturbing dream.

He was falling into an abyss. He was calling out to Sherlock and of course Sherlock couldn’t hear him but he couldn’t see him either because it was dark. He could not sign to him in the dark and the earth was closing in over him and would cut him off forever.

He could see Sherlock’s face disappear even as was taking his final breath.

Mycroft woke up sweating and panicked. It took him a minute to remember where he was. Eventually he got off the bed and found himself looking out of the castle window at the half moon rising.

Somewhere beneath the same moon slept a piece of his heart. His Sherlock. Out there somewhere, defending the border of the Kingdom that would soon be ruled by Mycroft. With Moriarty’s sister by his side as his consort.

He wanted to hit his head against the wall out of sheer frustration.

_How had this terrible thing come to pass?_

He wanted to hate his father for being so weak and short sighted but he could see that the decision had been made in the best interests of the people. The greatest good of the greatest number. That above all was the final aim of a good King.

He stood there for a few more minutes, imagining what it would be like if he could go back to his bed with Sherlock there, sleep soft and warm, wrapping himself around him like he already was entwined around his soul.

_How was he going to take someone else into this bed and produce heirs?_

He felt sick to the stomach at the very thought. He had a pounding headache and chest pain. Maybe he needed to get Mistress Hudson to do some more blood letting. 

He stared into the moonlit night for a few minutes and then finally signed ‘goodnight’ into the ether. Then he tapped his heart twice …‘beloved’….before he made his way back to bed with a heavy heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a whole month since I updated this! These are crazy time and I hope that all of you are well and safe. Sorry for the short chapter but inspiration has been slow...  
We are close to the end of this story and big thank you to anyone still reading :)  
Comments are love of course <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Let me not to the marriage of true minds  
Admit impediments. Love is not love  
Which alters when it alteration finds,  
Or bends with the remover to remove."
> 
> Sonnet 116. William Shakespeare

Sherlock barely slept after that terrible dream and was up and about at the crack of dawn.

Seven days.

That was all that was left between him and an eternal hell on earth as Mycroft was wed and lost to him forever. He stood with head bowed as he sent a silent apology to Mycroft for not being with him. He cursed Greg for having sent him. They had found no signs of a skirmish. Not as much as a twig out of order.

He had half a mind to give the order to turn back today.

If he left the soldiers behind and rode like the wind he could get back in time to……in time to do something. Something. Anything.

He hung his head as he realized that no matter how hard he wished it, there was no hope. He needed to do what was to be done.

But he suddenly realized that he would not go back.

He would not be able to face a life inside that Palace with Mycroft and his Queen, living together as a married couple. He would not be able to watch them be with each other and to know that they were making a baby and that Mycroft would soon drift further and further away from him. Orbiting the Kingdom and his Queen and then his children as Sherlock receded in the distance, a reminder of his failed love. Maybe someday he would also be forced to take a consort.

_No. This was the end of the road for him_.

He would sort out whatever Greg wanted and then he would send John and the troops back. He could change his name and appearance and blend in with the regular folks. There were so many deaf-mute adults who lived functional lives.

_Yes. He would stay far away. Let Mycroft live his new life in peace, without the spectre of his damaged brother hanging over it._

With a great weight off his shoulder at this decision, he rode forth at the head of the troops.

The battalion made its way through the woods and as the sun rose high in the sky, Sherlock and John found themselves standing at a crossroads, wondering which way they should go, when a large black cat crossed their path.

All the soldiers stood in hushed silence, unsure if they would prefer to retreat in the face of this bad omen. Sherlock and John were watching the cat and wondering what to do next when the cat suddenly turned into a woman. Slight but strong, fair and blonde.

She turned and walked away and after a moment of confusion they followed, their soldiers marching behind them with a lot of panicked whispering of black magic and witches.

After an hour of riding and walking they came to a clearing in the middle of the forest and the maiden turned around and signalled that only Sherlock and John may continue further.

John dismounted and went to the soldiers and gave instructions to wait till the two of them returned. They were to rest and eat in groups of 20 at a time so that most of them would be ready to follow at a signal in case there was any need.

Then he went to Molly and she handed over what she had carried so carefully all this time. John took it from her and slipped it inside his jacket.

A look passed between them and John spoke softly. “I will protect Sherlock with my life.”

Molly nodded. “I believe you will. And I hope that both of you will return to us safely.”

.

.

Sherlock and John rode their horses behind the maiden who now seemed to be flying down on winged feet without tiring. Finally they crossed a brook and both of them gasped. They could actually feel the power radiating from this place and before Sherlock could sign anything to John, they both saw Her.

She seemed to emerge out of nowhere, perhaps because of a perception filter. She was waiting for them and smiled when She saw them.

They saw Her and knew that they were in the presence of a Queen. She may not have a Palace but She was most certainly royal.

They dismounted and bowed to Her and John offered greetings from the King.

The next instant Sherlock staggered back because She was talking and he could hear! No, not with his ears but he could hear Her inside his head!!

He was too stunned to notice that John had also turned to look at him with wide eyes. Sherlock knew this was ‘talking’ although he had never heard anything his entire life. She was talking to him. She was asking something.

[What do you wish for young man?]

He just stood there and blinked.

[To talk?] She asked.

Sherlock nodded.

She smiled at him. It was partly tender, partly mischievous.

[What will you give me in return?]

[Anything you want.] Sherlock found himself telling Her.

[Your life?] She asked smoothly.

Sherlock blinked. _What would be the use of being able to tell Mycroft he loved him if he couldn’t live with him?_

[Take mine] John said stepping forward.

[What a brave soldier!] The Grand Witch Anthea ‘said’ as she exchanged an amused glance with the fair maiden. [Worthy of you my dear Mary. If you want him.]

Mary smiled and gave a short bow. Anthea laughed and then turned her attention back to John.

[Such loyalty is admirable brave soldier. But you have a different role to play. And I was just testing both of you. I don’t want your life or his. What I want is the head of King James Moriarty on a platter.] 

[Yes] Sherlock said. [So do we all.]

[That’s good. I will help you get what you want but it is a powerful magic and will need a blood oath.]

[Of course] Sherlock said. [Take mine.]

Anthea smiled and looked at John. John nodded and pulled out a bundle from inside his jacket. Before Sherlock’s astonished eyes he untied it and took out three beautiful pewter tubes.

Mary came forward and drew a complicated circle on the ground.

Anthea stepped into it and invited Sherlock in. Then She took his arm and with a knife and drew the same design into his skin.

He hissed in pain and watched as Mary stepped forward and poured the blood from one of the vials onto the cuts, thus mixing it with his own blood.

[Whose blood is that?] Sherlock asked, curiously.

[From the one you love] Anthea replied with a smile. [This sigil will connect you to him but you must rest now and we will work tomorrow.]

.

.

.  
So the days passed as Anthea worked with Sherlock using powerful blood magic and taught him how to read minds and speak into them.

[It will seem like magic when you make deductions. You will be able to solve any mystery and understand who did it and why. It is a great power. Wield it with care and for good. ]

Sherlock bowed in gratitude even as he worked very hard to learn all the tricks that She taught him.

At the end of five days, as they prepared to leave, John bade farewell to Mary and stored with great care the knife she had given him, which had been forged using Gregory’s blood vial. He was also carrying back a protective talisman for Mistress Hudson.

He promised to come back and find Mary once the mission was over.

Anthea watched as Sherlock and John bowed low and started to move towards their horses.

Then she intoned, straight into Sherlock’s mind in a way that he had got so used to already that he barely noticed. [Time after time, life after life.] [You and your soulmate will find each other. Sometimes too soon, sometimes too late. But you are inevitable. So despair not. Go forth and may you win the hand of your beloved.] 

When Sherlock turned around to thank her there was just a lush clearing in the middle of the woods and if it hadn’t been for the rapidly healing sigil carved into his skin he might have thought he imagined it all.


	12. Chapter 12

Mycroft was dressed in all his finery as a Crown Prince and as he walked down the corridors of the Palace towards the main hall, he felt as though he was being led to his own funeral rather than to a wedding. This was it. The end of every single dream and fantasy and desire.

_This was the end of him and Sherlock._

And although his heart ached to know that Sherlock wasn’t even here physically for him to look into his eyes and say a goodbye, he was grateful that he was away. There is no saying what Sherlock would have done on this occasion and the last thing Mycroft wanted was for him to be anywhere near that snake in human form –King Moriarty.

With his mind miles away thinking of Sherlock he barely noticed when he finally reached the throne. He greeted his parents on bended knee as they blessed him and anointed him with sacred perfumes while the High Priestess recited some ancient Latin chants.

King Moriarty was sitting across them in another, smaller throne and next to him was his sister-- the notorious Princess Irene. She was truly beautiful but Mycroft had no interest in sparing her more than a glance.

His entire being was filled with white noise. He couldn’t hear himself think. He felt numb and almost dizzy. He found himself losing track of what was being said more than once. When he caught Greg’s eye he saw an extremely worried expression on his face and his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword.

He gave in to a bitter laugh internally.

_What was the use of Greg and the entire army? What was the use of his genius brain? In fact what was the use of an entire Kingdom if he could not be with his beloved?_

He sent out the most ardent plea into the universe. _Please Sherlock_. _Please._

He didn’t even know what he was asking of it. He wanted Sherlock to be with him right now and forever. But he also wanted him to be away from this mess and stay safe. It was too late to make any wishes now anyway. The incantation had reached a serious pitch and the High Priestess was now tying some thread and amulet around his arm. She also tied one around Princess Irene’s arm. 

Then she stood in front of the court with both of them on either side and flung her arms out in a sweep as she asked in a voice loud enough to echo around the enormous hall. “If any man can show any just cause why they may not be married together, speak now or then hereafter forever hold his peace.”

As she finished intoning the last word and even before she could take in a breath, the entire hall trembled and the sound of distant thunder could be heard. There was a hushed murmur among those gathered and the High Priestess looked annoyed at the distraction.

She announced once again “If any man can show any just cause why they may not be married together, SPEAK NOW or then hereafter forever hold his peace.”

This time when the floor of the hall shuddered violently again, the sound of galloping horses could also be heard. As everyone waited with bated breath there came the sound of the huge knocker on the front door being rattled.

Someone was knocking!

The murmurs of the courtiers became louder as the doors were suddenly flung open and a huge black horse entered, whinnied and reared up on its hind legs and was followed by another and another and another.

Mycroft felt as though his heart was going to leap out of his ribcage and leap onto that horse because…._oh god..oh no…oh yes..it was Sherlock!! _

_Why?! How??? What would happen now???_

The entire world narrowed down to just that sight.

Sherlock, his beloved, beautiful Sherlock had returned just in time…….._just in time for what?!! _

There is no way he could escape being married. King Moriarty had come here with a large contingent from his army. There is no way this would end in anything but slaughter if he tried to break the agreement.

_Oh Sherlock!!_

His heart was crying when suddenly Sherlock was riding the horse into the hall, all the way to the front and bowing to him and signing furiously.

The High Priestess asked angrily. “Does someone have something to say? Speak now or forever hold your peace!”

.

.

[I have come to claim you. You promised me every future lifetime. But I want it to start now.]

Mycroft blinked and his jaw dropped.

_How could he hear these words inside his head?!_

Sherlock was still ‘speaking’.

[You have been the voice in my head and the song in my heart and my lens to the world Mycroft. I have come to claim you as mine. But only if you choose me. If not I will leave you alone for the rest of your life and fare thee well brother mine.]

That double tap of his palm on his heart.

[Beloved.]

Mycroft replied in a very rapid sign language that no one else could possibly have understood.

{You don’t need to claim me Sherlock. I am yours. Always have been. Always will be. Tell me what to do.}

Then a double tap of his palm on his heart.

{Beloved.}

[Come closer as if to take your gift.] Sherlock said.

Mycroft nodded and watched from the corner of his eye as John and six of his men held the main doors wide open. The murmurs in the court had reached a loud buzz as everyone wondered what was going to happen next.

Sherlock was now signing to Greg. {_Will you translate for me?}_ He asked.

.

.

The King and Queen were watching all this unfold, too stunned to react. Greg bowed to them and the Crown Prince for permission and then stepped forward where he was standing next to King Moriarty and Princess Irene.

He looked at Sherlock’s hands and started translating.

“I come in peace.” Greg said on behalf of Sherlock. “I will wish the King good luck and will go to find my own kingdom elsewhere. I bring a token of good luck for the King if he will receive it from me?”

The courtiers were slightly hushed now. In the history of Britain many a brother had killed another to take the throne but the stories of these two had always been about a hint of something even greater than brotherly love, so everyone was curious.

As Mycroft stepped down in a cool and regal manner from the raised platform and everyone’s attention was drawn to him, no one notice John handing over the talisman to Mistress Hudson and all his soldiers quietly streaming into a line , each one behind each soldier that had come from the other Kingdom.

Sherlock stayed on his horse as it neighed and raised its fore legs in impatience. He patted its neck to calm it down and turned it facing more towards the main door as he leaned over from the other side as though to hand over a gift to Mycroft.

The next few seconds were such a blur that none of the courtiers and soldiers there were ever able to come to any confirmed story.

Even now the legend talks of white magic and black magic. Fire breathing dragons and rivers of blood. Thunder, lightning and the beating of drums. No one ever could separate the myth from the truth.

Everyone was always agreed upon one part of the story though.

Sherlock had extended his hand down and instead of handing over a gift to Mycroft had instead taken his hand and pulled him up onto his horse. Within seconds they had galloped out of the castle door and Greg had turned and plunged the dagger anointed with his blood, straight into King Moriarty’s heart. The black smoke that emerged from his mouth may have been part of the legend but the fact remained that the evil King was dead and some powerful magic had been responsible for it.

John’s men swung the huge heavy door close as soon as Sherlock’s horse swept out on winged feet. With the head of the snake cut off and finding themselves trapped inside, the outsider soldiers lost the will to fight and quietly gave up their arms and surrendered to the host army.

The screeching of a thousand ravens outside the castle creating such a dark cloud that the sun was hidden may have been part of the legend but the pin drop silence inside the castle was probably real. Every single person inside watched with bated breath and Greg came and took a knee in front of the King and Queen.

John had also reached the front of the hall and ordered his soldiers to take the High Priestess away and keep her locked away in her chambers. She was from their own Kingdom but he just liked to be careful.

He bowed low and spoke to the King. “Your Majesty. With both your sons having left the castle and possibly the Kingdom, as per the law, Gregory Lestrade is now your true heir. Perhaps the Royal Wedding could still continue.”

Princess Irene was looking dazed as though she had just been released from a heavy and dark spell. But she looked at Greg with an appraising eye and smiled her assent.

.

.

Thus legend tells us that King Gregory and Queen Irene met at the Black Wedding and reigned for decades over a happy and glorious populace.

Sign language became wildly popular among the young people and witchcraft had somewhat of a revival with Mistress Hudson starting a school of sorts. She reverted to her maiden name of Martha Hufflepuff after she left the castle, for without the two boys she raised in the nursery there she really did not care to live or work there anymore.

John found his way back to the forest and asked Mary for her hand in marriage. Grand Witch Anthea accepted the gift of Moriarty’s head and also his black heart. She knew in her great wisdom that just like Sherlock and Mycroft would find each other life after life and time after time as soulmates, so would the villain in their fairy tale. This was one of the stories where they had a happy ending and she would make sure they had more of those in the future lives.

.

.

As for Sherlock and Mycroft, no one really knew where they went and what happened but the romantics wrote songs and ballads and stories and so the legends grew. People spoke of them as soulmates. Said they were made for each other. True love. The Princes who sacrificed a kingdom for their love.

But the most popular poem of them all was Lochinvar, about Sherlock the Prince who stormed the castle and stole away his beloved right under the nose of the enemy and a wild army. As ages passed it changed shape and some of the names were forgotten and re-written and blended. At the heart it still remained a tribute to true love.

The story of the prince who learned all the words from his beloved and held his peace till he needed to speak up.

That is what the legends say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next 'chapter' is just the poem that inspired this whole fic! That and the scene from Four Weddings and a a Funeral :) where Hugh Grant's younger brother gets up when the priest asks for anyone who knows of any impediment to the marriage to speak up or forever hold their peace and then we have this hilarious exchange: 
> 
> He wants me to …translate what he is saying  
What IS he saying? ( Priest)  
He is saying……I suspect the groom is having doubts.  
Are you ? Are you Charles?? ( Priest)  
I suspect the groom would like to delay  
I suspect the groom really loves someone else?  
What’s he saying ??! ( Priest)  
He …he suspects the groom loves someone else.  
Do you love someone else ?? DO you Charles? ( Priest)  
I do.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of you who read this story and extra thanks to all of you who commented :)   
It was fun writing a medieval and magical story for a change and hope you also had fun reading it !
> 
> This is the poem that inspired this fic, though of course it is not even remotely about a gay incestuous romance but for the wicked and sinful Holmescesters even Romeo and Juliet cannot be imagined without these two anymore so here you go :P

# Lochinvar

By Sir Walter Scott

O young Lochinvar is come out of the west, 

Through all the wide Border his steed was the best; 

And save his good broadsword he weapons had none, 

He rode all unarm’d, and he rode all alone. 

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, 

There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. 

He staid not for brake, and he stopp’d not for stone, 

He swam the Eske river where ford there was none; 

But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, 

The bride had consented, the gallant came late: 

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, 

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 

So boldly he enter’d the Netherby Hall, 

Among bride’s-men, and kinsmen, and brothers and all: 

Then spoke the bride’s father, his hand on his sword, 

(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) 

“O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, 

Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?” 

“I long woo’d your daughter, my suit you denied;— 

Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide— 

And now I am come, with this lost love of mine, 

To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 

There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, 

That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.” 

The bride kiss’d the goblet: the knight took it up, 

He quaff’d off the wine, and he threw down the cup. 

She look’d down to blush, and she look’d up to sigh, 

With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye. 

He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,— 

“Now tread we a measure!” said young Lochinvar. 

So stately his form, and so lovely her face, 

That never a hall such a galliard did grace; 

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, 

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; 

And the bride-maidens whisper’d, “’twere better by far 

To have match’d our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.” 

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, 

When they reach’d the hall-door, and the charger stood near; 

So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, 

So light to the saddle before her he sprung! 

“She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; 

They’ll have fleet steeds that follow,” quoth young Lochinvar. 

There was mounting ’mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; 

Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran: 

There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, 

But the lost bride of Netherby ne’er did they see. 

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, 

Have ye e’er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar? 

**Author's Note:**

> Lochinvar is a loch in Dalry Parish, Kirkcudbrightshire, Scotland, that is now a reservoir. It is located in the Galloway Hills, around eight miles from St. John's Town of Dalry. The name Lochinvar is Scots Gaelic, Loch an barr, andmeans "Loch on the hilltop"
> 
> Sir Walter Scott, in full Sir Walter Scott, 1st Baronet, (born August 15, 1771, Edinburgh, Scotland—died September 21, 1832, Abbotsford, Roxburgh, Scotland), Scottish novelist, poet, historian, and biographer who is often considered both the inventor and the greatest practitioner of the historical novel.
> 
> The way Mycroft teaches Sherlock is inspired by the story of the way Ann Sullivan taught Helen Keller.
> 
> "In a dramatic struggle, Sullivan taught Keller the word "water"; she helped her make the connection between the object and the letters by taking Keller out to the water pump, and placing Keller's hand under the spout. While Sullivan moved the lever to flush cool water over Keller's hand, she spelled out the word w-a-t-e-r on Keller's other hand. Keller understood and repeated the word in Sullivan's hand. She then pounded the ground, demanding to know its "letter name." Sullivan followed her, spelling out the word into her hand. Keller moved to other objects with Sullivan in tow. By nightfall, she had learned 30 words."  
https://www.biography.com/activist/helen-keller


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